


Knowing Stiles

by Shorm (Bdoing)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:26:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 17,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bdoing/pseuds/Shorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles wants Scott's mouth in all sorts of interesting ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I want it.”

Scott closed his locker, to see that Stiles had somehow managed to hide behind it completely, and was grinning, a half-maniacal look on his face. If he didn’t know Stiles better, then he’d probably be thinking that if he didn’t know Stiles better he’d be worried.

He knew Stiles better than that.

He was worried.

“You want what?” He had an idea, but Stiles wasn’t that stupid—

“The bite.”

Okay, so he was that stupid.

“What? No.”

“Come on, Scott, it’ll be fine. Listen, listen.” Scott had started to walk away, and Stiles had grabbed his arm with both hands and used all of his body weight to stop him. Scott sighed and turned around to look at his dumbass friend.

“What.”

“Okay, just hear me out, okay?” Stiles’s grin had faded, and he was looking back and forth between Scott’s eyes. Scott knew that look, and even knowing that he was trying his damnedest to sway him, he couldn’t say no.

“Fine. But not at school, okay?” He ripped his arm out of Stiles’s grip and walked away, towards their English class.

“Okay, when?”

“Come over tonight, Mom’s working. Then I can yell at you in peace,” he said.

Stiles must have seen the look on his face, and caught the tone in his voice, because he didn’t keep at him, instead being content to let the topic switch to other things, like Scott’s stellar performance earlier that day on the lacrosse field.

If Scott didn’t know Stiles better, he would say something like ‘if I didn’t know Stiles better, I would think he was trying to butter me up’.

He knew Stiles pretty damned well.


	2. Chapter 2

Scott was in the shower when he heard his bedroom door open, and called out “Stiles, haven’t you fucking learned to knock yet?”

“Oh, shit.”

Scott head the door close, and closed his eyes against the pounding of the water. He was kind of hoping Stiles would have given up, or chickened out. He couldn’t possibly be asking Scott to bite him tonight, could he?

(The part of Scott that was honest to himself pointed out that he knew Stiles better than that, and was immediately told to shut the fuck up by the part of his brain in charge of optimism.)

Scott let the shower drag on a bit longer than was strictly necessary, and then walked out into his room. Thankfully, he was smart enough to put a towel around his waist before exiting his private bathroom, because when he had thought he had heard Stiles close the door to go out into the hallway, he had actually heard Stiles close the door with him still inside the room - he was sitting on his bed playing a game on his cellphone.

“Dude.”

Stiles looked over at him (standing with his hair dripping water down his shirtless torso and collecting at the waistband of his white towel, which really wasn’t hiding very much) and dropped his cellphone onto his chest.

“Whoa, sorry, I thought you’d be changing in there.” He scrambled up and into the bathroom, and as he closed the door Scott shouted at him - “That’s what bedrooms are for, dumbass!”

After Scott had let Stiles back into his room, he sighed and sat down on the bed; Stiles very calmly took his computer chair and swung it over, sitting in it backwards.

“So. Full moon tonight,” Stiles started.

Scott held up a finger. “No.”

“Yes it is, just look at it—” Stiles started, pointing out the window, where the moon was hanging low and bright enough in the sky that even through the late afternon sunlight you could see a perfectly round circle.

“Not what I meant,” Scott said, glaring at him. “Believe me, I know when it’s full.”

Stiles furrowed his brow. “Why are you angry at me?”

“Because you — you actually want this! You’re actually asking for this!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, it’s not a gift, it’s a curse, blah blah blah, come on, I’ve been with you this entire time.” He paused, and Scott could almost feel the silence stretching out between them. “Do you really think I don’t know how it’s been for you, Scott?”

“If you had asked me that before asking for the bite, I would have said that you totally now what it’s been like for me. Now? Now I’m not so sure.”

“Scott, listen—”

“Do you even think about what you’re saying?”

“Scott, I—”

“What, are you drunk or something?”

“SCOTT.” Stiles yelled his name, and Scott jerked back, startled. Stiles didn’t often raise his voice beyond its normal rather loud volume.

“What.”

“Am I going to get a word in edgewise? Usually it’s the other way around here, I’m not used to being on this side.”

Scott sighed, focusing on his breathing. His heart rate was spiking.

“Your eyes have changed, Scott.”

Scott looked up at Stiles, his eyes - he knew that they were golden, that they had changed to the super-powerful werewolf eyes that he knew so well - fixed on his friends’, and let the silence fill the room again.

“Stiles, this is what the bite is. It’s getting angry at your friends and wanting to rip their throat open.”

“You want to rip my throat open?”

Scott didn’t answer. (And truthfully, he wasn’t that angry, and he had changed on purpose. He was just trying to scare him into not making a stupid decision.)

“Listen. If I bite you, your life as you know it is over. I didn’t get that choice. It’s fucking ruined my life, it’s not a gift—”

“Scott, stop. You said you’d hear me out.”

Scott made his eyes shift back to normal and lay back on his bed, sighing.

“Okay, what do you want to say that you think will actually convince me?”

“God, are you channeling your Mom or something? That was an impeccable Miss McCall impression— Okay, okay,” Stiles said, holding up his hands in response to Scott starting to speak. “I’ll get on with it.”

“Okay, so. I want the bite, and I want it so that, once I can control myself, I can help you. I’m already sticking my neck into everything, y’know? I already know all the crap you’ve had to go through. I already know all the dangers - and, hell, I’m already in almost all the danger myself. Do you really think that Gerard wouldn’t have killed me, too?”

Scott closed his eyes. He did not want to think about Gerard. Thinking about Gerard led to thinking about Allison, and they really weren’t quite past the point where he could think about her without a sharp pain in his gut, without wishing to go back to then.

“I want to be able to fight, Scott.”

Stiles’s voice cracked. That was enough to make Scott look up.

He was holding his head in his hands, cradling it, and obviously trying not to cry.

Scott opened his mouth to ask if he was okay, and then closed it. The answer to that was pretty obvious.

The guy was a good actor. He wasn’t that good. He knew Stiles better than that.

“Scott, I’ve been helpless my entire life. Or, at least, I’ve felt it.”

“What? Stiles, I wouldn’t be here if you weren’t there.”

“Yes, you would, you don’t give yourself enough credit,” Stiles said, although he looked up. He hadn’t started crying, as far as Scott could tell, but he looked… exhausted. That was about it - he looked like he had been up for days, and hadn’t ever experienced a good night’s sleep.

“I want to be able to fight with you.”

“And what, the rest of it’s just gravy?”

“Hey, I’m not going to lie and say I don’t want that, too. Being actually on the line for the lacrosse team would be nice, and I’m not denying that. Hell, with me, you, and Isaac on the team, we’ll probably actually do pretty well.”

“No.”

“No, that’s not why I want it. I want it because I can help behind the scenes, but in the thick of it? When that pack of Alphas gets into town? Don’t you think you’ll need some extra help, dude?”

“There are enough people who are at risk because of me.”

“Scott, grow the fuck up.”

The comment, and the sudden vitriol, took Scott aback. “Grow up?’

“Yeah, Scott. Grow the fuck up. Stop acting like some fucking wounded soldier, stop acting like you’re the only one, and stop acting like you’re the only one who is at fault. Would you have gotten bitten if I wasn’t an idiot and dragged you out after dark?”

“Oh, because I didn’t come willingly.”

“I seem to remember you yelling at me, actually!”

“I’m the one who is putting people in danger! I’m the reason you’re in danger in the first place!”

“So if you think like that, then fucking let me take control of my own goddamned life! Let me take my fate into my own hands - or paws, whatever. Claws? I don’t know what works best there.”

“Probably paws. Wait, no—”

“Paws it is. Now, I just need that bite.”

“What, do you want me to just— bite you and leave you here?’

“What time is your Mom back?”

Scott blanched. “Eight thirty, nine if she gets breakfast first. You want to stay here?”

“Do you still have the chains from when you were first bitten? We could totally—”

“I broke those, Stiles.”

“Oh.” Stiles’s face fell. “Well, fuck.”

Scott sighed, and leaned backwards over his bed, flipping onto his stomach to drag the remnants of chains out from under his bed. “We can try, though. I’ll be here to keep you in line, there’s no way you’ll be stronger than me.”

“Hey, says who— Wait, so you’ll do it?” Stiles’s jaw dropped. 

“Yeah. You’re right,” Scott said, straightening out and dumping the chains on the bed.

“I’m right?”

“You’re right.” Scott sat up, face grim, jaw set, staring at Stiles’s face. “It’s not my place to bring people into danger, but if someone I brought into danger wants to be able to face that danger themselves, it really isn’t fair of me not to let them, is it?”

“No! No, you’re right, you can’t really do that. Let’s go with that,” Stiles said, a grin splitting his face again. It made him look a lot less exhausted, Scott noted with a smile. That was good.

“Okay, so — how do we do this?” Stiles said, rubbing his hands together with glee and eagerness.

“Let’s go into the bathroom,” Scott said. “There was a mess of blood when I got bitten.”

“Oh.” Stiles screwed up his face at the thought of a lot of blood getting onto his clothes. “I should have brought some old pants or something.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll bite your arm and you can hold it over the sink.”

“Ever the gentleman,” Stiles said, still grinning. “Shall we?”

Scott just groaned and pushed himself off his bed. “I swear to God, you’re cleaning up any mess that happens.”


	3. Chapter 3

It only took a minute; Scott was in control of himself enough that he bit him, a bit deeper than he wanted to. (He was hoping to let him off with a grazing, and the just say that it must not have taken, but he knew Stiles better than that - he bit until Stiles cried out in pain through clenched teeth.)

After a brief argument about cleaning the wound properly (Scott was worried it would get infected, or bleed everywhere; Stiles didn’t want to have had to suffer through that bite without actually gaining anything from it), Scott sat back on the edge of his bathtub. Stiles was perched awkwardly on the toilet seat, arm still held over the sink, since it was still dripping blood.

“How do you feel?”

“How am I supposed to feel?” Stiles was paper-white in the face, and looked absolutely horrified at what had just happened. Scott could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

If he didn’t know Stiles better, he would think that he was regretting what he had just forced to happen.

He knew Stiles better than that.

It took a few hours for anything to happen; Stiles sent his Dad off a text message saying that he was staying the night at Scott’s, and Scott sent a text to his Mom saying that Stiles was staying the night, if she was bringing him breakfast (like she sometimes did, when money wasn’t too tight and when she swung by a drive-thru on her way home) could she please bring Stiles some as well and he’d pay her back.

And then they just lay together in Scott’s bed, arms lightly touching while they did their own things. Scott was reading a book he’d been meaning to read for ages now (trying desperately not to think about the fact that it was Allison who had given it to him, and who was why he had been meaning to read it); Stiles had his phone plugged into the wall and (with a bandage loosely wrapped around his arm, since Scott refused to let an open wound into his bed) was playing Angry Birds, cursing when he couldn’t complete a level.

After a few hours, and four different boring cellphone games, Stiles yawned deeply, said “I think it’s bedtime for me”, lay back with his cellphone on the bed next to his head, and was asleep, breathing steadily within seconds.

And it was only about forty-five seconds after that that he started changing.

Scott changed with him, getting on top of him (with his sudden burst of strength) and holding his arms down. He knew that he’d have the advantage on a few diferent fronts here; he was on top, he had human intelligence and wasn’t just a beast, he was used to what he could and could not do while wolfed out…

…but he still didn’t know just how strong Stiles was going to be.

It took a couple minutes for Stiles to fully change, like his body was still adjusting to the changes itself and wasn’t sure how they were going to play out. As soon as Stiles’s eyes reopened again, though, Scott pushed down even harder on his shoulders.

That ended up being just in time - Stiles had tried to throw Scott off.

They struggled for a few minutes, Scott managing to keep his position but more and more tenuously, before a sudden snarl came out of his mouth, surprising them both.

“Calm down!”

And that was it; Stiles cringed, as if he’d been physically smacked. Scott didn’t trust him to actually be calm, though, and cursed their lack of foresight — they hadn’t kept Stiles chained up. Scott was expecting a bit more notice than just Stiles saying “bedtime!” and immediately changing.

He sighed, resigning himself to a long night of keeping his best friend pinned to his bed, while both of them were partially wolves.

Man, life had gotten weird in Beacon Hills.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t until about 7am that Stiles turned back; 45 seconds later, he woke up with a start, confused. Scott had fallen asleep on top of him, mumbling “Don’t you dare fucking move” and hoping that between that and his body weight Stiles would stay put; except for the fact that it meant that Stiles woke up pinned underneath his best friend in a very compromising position, it worked pretty well.

As soon as Stiles stirred and started trying to push Scott off him, Scott, who had changed back to human as well, rolled off him instantly awake. “Oh god, I fell asleep. How did I fall asleep?”

“Do you think I did anything?” Stiles asked, wide-eyed.

“Nah, I… I was still on top of you when you woke up. Unless you somehow crawled underneath me, I don’t think you could have gone anywhere.” Scott yawned. “Man, that was not a restful sleep.”

“Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s okay. How do you feel?”

Stiles grinned. “A bit disoriented, I guess, but that’s about it. Other than that, I feel fucking great.”

“Awesome. You’re a dick for waking me up.”

Stiles laughed and rolled onto his side, facing Scott. “Thanks, man. I know how much that went against your sense of morality.”

Scott gave him a half-smirk and yawned again. “Good. So you’ll understand why I have to kill you now, then.”

Stiles laughed once, then closed his eyes. “Well, back to sleep for me, I think.”

Scott kept a very cautious watch for thirty seconds, barely trusting himself to move, and then Stiles opened one eye. “I don’t think I’m gonna change, dude. No more full moon. No heavy heart rate. We’re good. I’m just tired. Go back to sleep, we still have a while before we have to get to school.”

Scott sighed. He was tired, but, rolling onto his back (sleeping in the same bed was kind of weird, but he’d known Stiles since they were babies and they’d always shared a bed during sleepovers; sleeping while facing each other was kind of weird, still) he found that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep any time soon.

Despite that, the next thing he knew he was waking up to the sound of his Mom closing the front door, and the smell of McDonald’s breakfasts wafting up the stairs. “Scott? Stiles? You guys awake?”

Scott stretched; Stiles was halfway to the door, a crazed look in his eyes, before he stopped himself.

Scott just raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I just — holy crap, how do you deal with this sense of smell? I can smell everything, and those breakfasts just smell - like I know that it’s just McDicks, and I still really want it, oh man!” Stiles was looking around wildly, and Scott couldn’t help but laugh.

“You get used to it. But yeah, food tends to taste pretty good now. Smell really enhances it.” He grinned.

They could both hear Scott’s Mom coming up the stairs, and could both almost taste the sausages in their breakfasts. “You two up? Get out of bed, you’re gonna be late again!”

Just before she got to the door, Stiles opened it, and took a step back as if he were surprised by her presence. “Oh, hi!”

“Morning, Stiles,” she said, smiling faintly. She looked exhausted - which Scott couldn’t really blame her for, honestly, she was coming off a 12-hour shift at work.

“Now, you two, get cracking. Eat, leave. I don’t want to be woken up by a phone call in the middle of the day tell me you were late again, Scott,” she said, pointing her finger at him.

“We’ll be fine, Mom.”

“You’d better. Have a good day at school.”

“G’night!”

Stiles just waved; his face was already full of hash brown, and even with his usually pretty amazing acting abilites, he couldn’t help but to look like it was the best thing that he’d ever eaten. Either Scott’s Mom didn’t catch it, or she decided to just let it go; Scott sighed. He could probably expect to get a drugs lecture again that night before she went to work. Thanks, Stiles.

Scott grabbed his breakfast (Stiles, who was already halfway done his own, was staring at the second bag hungrily), the two of them ate, and they were on their way to school, with Stiles giving Scott a lift. Scott was worried about Stiles’s first day as a werewolf. He needed an eye kept on him.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have every single class together.


	5. Chapter 5

“Scott, what are you trying to keep out of this conversation?”

Scott gulped. Allison knew him better than to believe him if he lied; he was hoping to just keep any explanation out of the conversation completely.

“I’m— I’m not trying to—”

“Bullshit. Tell me, or I’ll ignore Stiles completely for weeks.” She smiled sweetly, and Scott sighed (his heart skipping a beat, so loudly that he was sure she’d hear it).

“He was bitten last night.”

Her eyes grew wide. “One of the new alphas?”

“Y-you could say that,” Scott said, scratching the back of his neck. An argument could pretty easily be made that he was, at least, on his way to becoming an Alpha.

“Scott…” Allison’s eyes narrowed as she realized what he was hinting at. “You’re telling me—”

“I’m not telling you anything, okay, Allison? I’m telling you that he needs to be watched, and you’re the only person I trust.”

She smiled, but her eyes were still suspicious. “Why?”

“I just told you, he was—”

“No, I mean why did you bite him?”

Scott closed his eyes and groaned, rubbing his hands up and down his face. He was going to be late to class at this rate. “Can we—”

“Are you out of control again for some reason?”

“No. He asked me, and we argued, and he convinced me. Can you drop it for now?”

“Drop it? Scott, you’re asking me to drop the fact that—”

“Allison, not in the hallway, okay? Come over after school and you can yell at us both, okay? But for now, I need to know that I can trust you to watch over him. Okay?”

She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. “I’m sorry. I’m going too far, aren’t I?”

“Huh?”

“I’m trying not to be too friendly with you so we don’t end up just falling back together again, but I don’t need to be…” She gestured to herself. “This.”

“O-oh. Oh, that’s what was going on. I thought you just hated me.”

Allison shook her head, rolling her eyes. “No.” She hugged him - a short hug, neither close nor tight, just a friendly hug and nothing more - and then grabbed her bag and walked towards the History class she shared with Stiles, without saying another word.

Scott stared after her. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but he understood her  _less_  now that they weren’t dating.


	6. Chapter 6

That night, they gathered in Scott’s room. Stiles was angry at Scott for not being able to keep it from Allison for one entire day, Allison was angry at Scott for biting Stiles in the first place, and Scott was angry at them both for not letting things go - but then his door opened.

His mother? His mother was  _livid_.

She demanded to see the bite wound (it was gone, healed up perfectly, as Scott knew it would be; she just muttered “fucking  _perfect”_ under her breath and moved on to smack Scott resoundingly across the head.

“Ow! Mom, what the—”

“What the  _hell_  did you think you were doing?”

Stiles and Allison locked eyes and stood up to leave the room; Ms McCall’s hand shot up. “Don’t you dare.”

She turned around, fixing her glare on Stiles. “You put him up to this. Park your ass on that chair, you’re next.”

Stiles sat down. Angry Ms McCall was, traditionally, who (and what) Stiles was most afraid of in the world. Scott turning into a werewolf and occasionally having bullets and crossbow bolts in the picture, shooting towards Stiles as well as his best friend, didn’t manage to change that.

She turned to Allison, whose already wide eyes went wider. “And you knew about this and you’re more worried about Scott than about Stiles? I’m ot going to force you to stay, but you probably should.”

“Oh, come on, how come she got the nice—” Stiles stopped as soon as Ms McCall turned to look at him; her facial expression read “Don’t test me”, and Stiles was more than willing to follow that instruction.

She turned back to face Scott, who sighed.

“Explain.”

“Stiles asked me to bite him. I said no, he argued. He convinced me, I bit him in the sink to contain the mess, I watched him last night to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Did… did you hurt anyone your first night as… as a werewolf?”

Scott looked up at his mother; they had never really properly talked about what it really meant that Scott was a werewolf. She looked terrified, not only for him, but also of him, now.

“As far as I know, I’ve never actually hurt anyone who wasn’t trying to hurt me,” Scott said, though he looked at Stiles and added, “or who wasn’t asking for it,”

“Now, that’s not fair— okay, I’ll shut up,” Stiles said, throwing his hands up in defeat before Ms McCall could even properly turn towards him.

“Okay, good. So you did everything safely, the bite is all healed, Stiles is definitely a werewolf and you are the reason for this, but you’re also looking after him.”

“Yes! What, did you think I was going to bite him and leave him at the side of the road?”

She just looked at him. “No, and I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted before I learned all the facts.”

She leaned over to hug Scott (Allison smiled, Stiles breathed a sigh of relief), and then instead of walking towards the door of the room, she rounded on Stiles instead, smacking him across the head.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“Yeah, what the hell! What the hell were you thinking, making him bite you?”

Stiles’s eyes shifted to gold, and Ms McCall took a step backwards, in a combination of shock and surprise; Stiles closed his eyes and focused on calming down, and Scott jumped to his feet, looking between them, unsure what just happened.

Allison got up and guided Ms McCall towards the door. “Don’t worry, between Scott and I we’ll make sure that Stiles is okay — and that everyone else is okay, too,” she said, looking over at Scott, who had his hands on Stiles’s shoulders.

“Calm down. Think of… I dunno, calm stuff.”

“Scott, that’s not helping!” Stiles said, between clenched teeth.

“I don’t know! When I couldn’t control it, I just thought of Allison! I don’t know who to tell you to think about!”

“You thought of me?”

Scott whipped around, face draining of colour. “I— What I mean is—”

“You thought of me to calm yourself down.”

Scott scratched the back of his head and smiled. “Yeah?”

“That’s… somehow sweet,” Allison said, smiling at him.

“Guys,” Stiles said, standing up. His eyes were back to normal, and while he was a bit shaky, he looked completely human. “Can we not do the whole getting back together and breaking up thing again?”

“Right,” Allison said, turning away, the smile fading from her face.

“It’s okay, Allison,” Stiles said, clapping her on the shoulder as he not-so-subtly wedged himself between them. “Crushes go away over time. That’s all this is. Another crush.”

If Scott didn’t know better, he’d think that Stiles was trying to convince himself as much as he was Allison - he was staring off into the distance, eyes unfocused, instead of actually looking at Allison while he talked. Scott’s eyes met Allison - she’d caught it too. That was worth some investigating - last they’d talked about it, Stiles had gotten over his obsession with Lydia (after a small fight about the use of that word, which Stiles objected to on the basis that it “sounded creepy” and which Allison was quick to point made it the best word for the situation).

But he knew Stiles better. He had to just be thinking about Lydia.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day was, thankfully, a Saturday; that night, Scott was more prepared and chained Stiles to the radiator at the wrists, with the shorter lengths of chain. He had to bark orders to calm down at him a couple times, but for the most part the fact that it was Scott who had bitten Stiles seemed to have given him some measure of power over Stiles while the two of them were wolfed out. Not complete power, by any means, but enough that it made it easier to keep him contained while he was learning to control himself.

His Mom walked in the next morning bearing more breakfasts while Scott was trying to undo Stiles’s wrists (cursing under his breath at himself the night before, who had deemed fit to tie a knot that he was pretty sure was impossible to undo).

“Whoa, do I want to know what you two were up to last night?”

Stiles almost immediately went bright red, which seemed weird to Scott, but his face was hidden to Ms McCall when he called out, voice sounding completely normal, “Werewolf!”

“Oh, right,” she said, circling around to put the breakfasts tantalizingly just out of reach, then leaning over to help Scott undo the kinked chains. “This is how you’re keeping him in line?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “He did it for me when I was first bitten.”

“So it... actually is just a bite, then?” She asked, cautiously.

“Yeah. A lot of what we know about werewolves from folk lore seems to be true, or sometimes just partially true,” Scott said.

“Not all of them -- all of us, I mean, not all of us turn all the way into wolves.”

“She knows, Stiles,” Scott said, tense. “She saw me in the police station with Matt. Why else do you think we’d be calmly having this conversation?”

“I thought you just told her,” Stiles said, looking at Scott.

“Oh, don’t be stupid, Stiles, of course Scott didn’t tell me. I knew he was hiding something, but I thought it was just the sex--”

Scott stopped fiddling with the chains (which were now undone, but wrapped around Stiles’s wrist in such a way that he couldn’t just pull it out) and stood up, spluttering. “What?”

“Oh, sit down and get on with it, Scott,” Ms McCall said, scowling as she picked at chains, trying to figure out what the fuck Scott did to make that knot. “I found condoms last year. I’m just glad you and Allison were using protection.”

Scott stood staring at his mother for a full minute before being able to gather enough wits back to sit down and continue undoing the knot.

Stiles, on the other hand, was again bright red, and he was pretty sure his face could act as a space heater at that moment. This was the most awkward situation he had ever been in. Ever. “S-so, yeah, o-other than that it’s pretty much what you would expect,” he stammered out, really just wishing he could get out of these goddamned chains.

At last, the last links of Scott’s wrist were undone, and Stiles could pull his aching arm out; as he looked at the wrist, expecting skin rubbed raw and cuts, the faintest hints of injury faded away.

“Okay, that’s kind of cool,” he said.

“That’s amazing,” Scott’s mother said, and then, without warning, she grabbed Stiles’s wrist and dug her nail in, gouging out a chunk of Stiles’s skin.

“Ow! What the f--- hell?!”

“Mom!”

Ms McCall was just staring at Stiles’s wrist while his skin formed over itself, closing and healing the wound before her eyes. “That’s amazing. I wish we could figure out a way to transfer this ability to all of my patients.”

Scott smiled. “We... sort of can. I’ll talk to you about that later. It’s something I’ve been doing at the vet clinic.”


	8. Chapter 8

A few hours later, Scott and Stiles were in Scott’s backyard with their lacrosse equipment in hand; Scott was, he reluctantly admitted, rather looking forward to this next part of making sure Stiles was a safe werewolf.

“Okay, so you’re really going to do this, right? The thing you got angry at me for doing?”

Scott grinned. “If I didn’t, then what kind of friend would I be?”

“A good one?” Stiles called out as Scott turned and walked away, chuckling. Stiles’s arms were tied up behind his back, and Scott only let him keep his mouth guard. He wasn’t 100% sure about what the werewolf powers would do with a missing tooth.

“Are you ready?’

“Am I ever going to be?”

Scott wanted to avoid actually telling him that, no, he probably never would because really, Stiles would probably just read into it a bit too much - or, rather, would read into it just enough to actually get what Scott would have actually meant, and would have realized that he meant that you never really got ready for people to throw punches, you never really got ready, you could never really expect, never really think that your girlfriend - or ex-girlfriend, he wasn’t actually sure if they were going out when that happened or not - was going to shoot you in the gut with a crossbow - but, he thought, that was just one time, so how could you really hold that against her? And besides, it wasn’t as bad as Stiles had been, where he was actually intending to inflict harm on Scott to make him change without the full moon. Stiles even had the excuse of it still being the full moon, really - he wasn’t going to change only because of it, but Scott usually found it easier to change when he wanted to on the days of the full moon, regardless of the reason why. ** **  
****

WHAP.

The first shot went off without even Scott realizing it or really thinking about it - if they hadn’t been alone in his backyard and if his lacrosse stick wasn’t devoid of a ball suddenly, he would have thought someone else had shot that. And the shot was right on target, right where Scott had been thinking that it would be the best place to hit him for the first time, the best place to make sure that Stiles would stay in a state of constant, low, throbbing pain: right in the crotch.

Stiles howled in pain and fell to the ground - Scott couldn’t help laughing (he was sure there was a complicated German word about that feeling, laughing at someone else’s pain, but for the life of him he could never remember what that word was) and he walked over to make sure that he was okay. He crouched next to Stiles, who was face-down in the dirt, and rolled him over to make sure he was still human -- his eyes were tightly shut, and he was grunting in pain. Scott prodded at him to make sure he was in pain - and then when Stiles groaned aloud instead of just grunting due to Scott’s insistent finger between his ribs, Scott spoke.

“Open your eyes, I wanna see them normal.”

“Yes, sir,” Stiles mumbled. He opened his eyes, slowly, obviously painfully, and Scott could see the gold before they even opened fully. “Make them normal. Fight it, Stiles,” he crouched down next to him, speaking directly into his ear. “Figure out an anchor, something that makes you feel human, something that you couldn’t ever forget, and grab onto that anchor for your life. Because this is your life, and you didn’t, you couldn’t have known how fucking hard this was going to be, but I’m going to spend this afternoon making sure that you know exactly how hard it is. You have to make sure that you don’t wolf out unexpectedly.”

He stood up - at some point in his little speech Stiles’s eyes had gone back to their normal brown. “Okay, good. Stand up, or I’ll just be pelting lacrosse balls at your body on the ground.”

“Are you sure that you have to do this?” Stiles said, groaning through the pain - but, to his credit, Scott noted, he was trying to stand up. He walked back over and grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and tugged him up, with Stiles breathing in sharply due to the pain.

“Yeah, I do need to do this. If you wolf out right now, you could totally break that crappy rope. And if you do, I’m the only person who’s gonna be able to make you not hurt anyone.” He made sure Stiles was on his feet and walked back to where his lacrosse stick was laying on the ground, disregarded.

“Are you ready?”

“No.”

“Good.” He shot another one, and then immediately threw the ball that he was hiding in his off hand; Stiles moved away from the first ball, like Scott was sure that he would, but the other one hit him in the temple, and started to go down like a sack of bricks, but Scott was pleased to see him end up on his knees instead, groaning in pain.

“I thought... you couldn’t... feel pain the same way...” Stiles said, breathing sharply. “I think you’ve actually done some damage.”

“Really, Stiles? You want me to stop already?’Stiles glared at him, but through completely normal brown eyes, and, while still glaring and without breaking eye contact, he stood up, awkwardly gyrating to make sure that he didn’t fall over - the blow to his temple seemed to have affected his balancing abilities, which wasn’t easily compensated for without his arms.

Scott threw some more balls - it took three more blows to the chest before Stiles fell to his knees again, looking stony-faced and annoyed at the world with each of the blows.

“You okay, man? Do you need us to stop for a bit, let yourself heal up?”

”I think you broke a rib,” Stiles said in response, and Scott dropped his lacrosse stick to untie his best friend, who collapsed in his arms, crying into his shoulder unexpectedly.

Scott was expecting a couple different things, including for Stiles to hit him back (even though really it was Scott hitting Stiles back), but crying? Crying was most definitely not on the list of things that he was actually expecting his best friend to do. They had cried in front of each other a few times, of course -- Stiles had caught Scott almost in the middle of a panic attack, and if he didn’t see any tears because of the shower water, he still definitely knew that they were there, because he had been through it all himself, and he had to have known that they were on his face, even if he couldn’t see them. Scott awkwardly patted Stiles’s back, while he cried into his shoulder, and then he just let him finish, hugging him tightly.

They hadn’t actually hugged tightly in years - not since they had both discovered girls, at the very latest, and it was kind of weird for him to be actually hugging him like he meant it, as opposed to just hugging him like a “bro” or whatever. Scott smiled. It was nice to have another thing to have between them, nice to actually feel connected to his friend properly for the first time in forever.

Stiles stopped crying after a moment and then just stood there disconnected from the world for a moment while he collected himself. By the time he pulled away from Scott, he was dry-eyed and looked only vaguely annoyed at the fact that he had just spent five minutes telling Scott’s shoulder all of his deepest, darkest fears.

Scott could hear him mumbling surprisingly well, actually - he was tired, he was in pain, and he had lost all of his filter. He couldn’t really make out any of the words, but he knew Stiles better than to actually listen to what he was saying. He wasn’t going to violate his privacy like that - even if that wouldn’t really be a violation of his privacy since he was, technically, telling him (even if it was his shoulder), he... things were weird between him and Stiles because of the bite.

He wanted to keep it not weird. So when Stiles held him at arms length and told him he loved him, his heart started beating a bit harder in his chest. No, that was not normal. Not between them.

“Not like that, man,” Stiles said, and Scott closed his eyes, laughing - he had forgotten. Of course Stiles could hear his heart start thumping in his chest, the exact same way that he could feeling or hear it in anyone else’s chest.

Whoops.

He smiled. “Yeah, I know, I just -- I was-- never mind. I love you too, man. Ready to get back to it?”

“I dunno, am I ever going to get used to this? Like, I mean - I broke a rib. I’m sure I did, my ribs felt weird and if I even touched them a little bit they exploded in pain, I could barely see... and now...” He punched himself in the ribs, thunking it soundly. “Now I can do that, Scott. Come on, tell me what the fuck is up with this. Tell me how you deal with this. Tell me how the fuck this becomes normal,” he looked like he was starting to cry again, and Scott sat down on the grass. As he’d hoped, Stiles followed suit, almost immediately flopping over to just lie down instead.

“It’s okay, dude. It gets to be normal the same way that anything becomes normal. The same way that a really weird haircut becomes normal, the same way that a relationship becomes normal, the same way that a breakup becomes normal. The same way you get used to not having a huge crush on someone anymore. It happens. Humans, we can get used to anything if you give us enough time, right?”

“I did not think this through,” Stiles said, sighing and covering his eyes. “I was super fucking happy about this - I mean who wouldn’t be, really? I was just basically given what I wanted in life. I was suddenly a lot stronger than anyone else at the school except you and Isaac, and then... now what? Now I actually have to deal with this. It’ll become normal.” He breathed out and sat up suddenly, swinging his body.

Scott could still feel the air of tension around him, could still feel the sadness in the air around him, almost like it was a tangible thing. “Okay. I’ve gotta go home for dinner. You wanna come over? I‘m sure my Dad won’t mind, but I do need to actually go home sometimes, you know.”

Scott laughed. “Yeah, I know. Whatever, yeah, sure. Can I stay over, or are you staying here? Are you gonna tell him about what’s... what’s been going on?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “He’d be too weirded out by it. I dunno if he’d be able to deal with it. And he probably wouldn’t be able to deal with me being a werewolf, of all people. But yeah, no, you can come over. We’ll just have to keep down our other sleepovers, maybe sneak out from time to time. Until I can control this myself, so that I can deal with this, so that I can get to the point where this is normal.”

His voice cracked on the last word, and he smirked to hide it. “Okay, focusing on the good things now. Can we climb into your bedroom through your window? Or actually play some lacrosse? Oh man, practice next week is going to be so sick, Scott!”


	9. Chapter 9

It only took Stiles another month to be able to control himself during the full moon - it was emotions that he was, surprisingly, having a harder time than Scott trying to control.

He expected that - especially with all his experience dealing with hiding his emotions from people while we was dealing with panic attacks and that entire shitty situation with his Mom, that he would actually be able to do that almost immediately, but whenever he got angry (which was a lot more now that he was first line on the lacrosse team) he was less and less able to actually deal with it without stepping into the showers; when that wasn’t an immediate option, he ended up dealing with the aggression on the field.

Scott had to constantly take him out of commission, so that he would at least have a chance to sit on the sidelines for a moment, so that he could deal with the aggression itself, instead of having to deal with the consequences of injuring someone on the opposing team.

(Scott and Isaac both followed that up with “Or worse, someone on our team”, but Scott thought that was pretty selfish.)

“You just need to find an anchor,” Scott said one practice, after he and Isaac had coaxed an annoyed and exhausted Stiles down off the top of the lockers in the men’s locker room after practice (thankfully, after practice, not during practice or _just_ after practice when there were still people there).

He at least was able to keep his wolfing out pretty well-hidden to the rest of the team, on the rare occasion that he actually wolfed out all the way. (Stiles was pretty sure the rest of the team had some idea of what was going on, but Scott preferred to refuse to entertain that idea, and Isaac agreed; people loved to ignore things that didn’t strictly make sense.)

There were worse ways that Stiles could be handling things, Scott thought, as he and Isaac helped Stiles down, embarrassed, shirtless, sweaty, and tired.

“Stiles, you have to find an anchor,” Scott said again, exasperated.

“I know, I just -- it was easy for you, you had Allison. I don’t... I don’t have anyone like that.”

“What about any crushes?” Isaac said, smiling faintly and raising an eyebrow.

Stiles held his gaze for a moment, almost glaring, and swallowed before shaking his head. “No, I-- nothing that I can use as an anchor. The only crush that I really have... wouldn’t work. Doesn’t make me feel more human.”

“Who is it?” Scott said, looking between the two of them, who had locked eyes again. How the hell did Stiles tell Isaac before he told him? Isaac very obviously knew who Stiles was talking about - he was looking at him and trying not to laugh, and if looks could kill Isaac would have burst into flames.

“So you haven’t told him yet?”

“Do you tell your best friend about all of your crushes?” Stiles said, spitting the words out, his hands clenching.

Scott stepped between them, back turned to Stiles. He could hear his best friend’s heart beating, and they were all tired - they did not need Stiles to change again so quickly.

Isaac just looked amused, letting his face break out into a wide grin and holding his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll let up. But he isn’t changing.”

Scott turned around, and Stiles was staring at him, a flush in his cheeks, eyes completely brown. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Hey, just because he’s a dick doesn’t mean he can’t be right,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I guess I’ve found my anchor.”  
And with that, he moved to his locker to find a fresh shirt to change into, leaving Isaac laughing behind an utterly bewildered Scott.


	10. Chapter 10

Scott really didn’t feel like he knew Stiles anymore.  
They had times when they kind of fell apart, but what friends didn’t? And they never really did it without both of them being stubbornly pissed at each other for something obvious (and then suddenly they were back to being best friends and no one, including themselves, could figure out exactly when they’d gone back to speaking terms).  
But this? This was different. There was no anger, Stiles just... wasn’t talking to Scott. And he hadn’t for the entire week.  
Stiles still sat behind Scott in almost all of his classes, sometimes to one side or the other, but whenever Scott turned to look back at him he got the feeling that Stiles had just been looking at him -- no matter if he was pretending to be asleep, looking out the window or (the easiest ruse to see through) actually paying attention. 

And it _hurt._

And what was worse, Stiles was still speaking to Isaac -- and Scott was pretty sure Isaac was helping Stiles learn to control his emotions, because Scott sure as hell hadn’t been able to while Stiles was ignoring him, but Stiles hadn’t fucked up yet, or at least not big enough for Scott to hear about it.

Scott was tempted to be an adult about it and actually talk to Stiles about it, and even tried to work himself up to that point a few times, just after class, but either he wouldn’t be able to actually say anything (and Stiles, very carefully looking anywhere but at Scott’s face, would quickly shovel everything into his bag, and, heart thumping in his chest, would carefully avoid brushing past Scott on his way out, the closest to an interaction they’d had all week) or once, he’d actually gotten to the point where he turned around and said “Hey, Stiles, can we talk?”

Except he only got to “Hey Sti--” before he realized that Stiles had managed to already be up and gone before he’d turned around. It was like he’d known that he was going to do that.

(Realistically, Scott realized during a long shower later on, he probably heard Scott’s heartbeat soar. He knew Scott well enough to guess what that meant and leave before it happened.)

So instead he cornered Isaac on Friday after practice, in the locker room. He’d tried to talk to Stiles again, but Stiles had slipped through his fingers just long enough to leave -- Isaac couldn’t predict his actions nearly well enough to pull that off, so he was surprised to find himself pushed against a locker after Scott had grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“What the hell, Scott? Someone could easily come back, you know.”

“Okay, so let’s make this quick so neither of us gets in trouble for fighting again. What the fuck is up with Stiles?”

Isaac looked genuinely confused for a moment, and then Scott could see the exact moment when everything fell into place for him; a moment later, he was laughing, his entire body shaking.

“Oh my God, you haven’t figured it out yet?”

“If I had, would I have you pressed against a locker?”

“True. Well, think about it, think about the two of you this past week.”

“He doesn’t even look at me,” Scott said, loosening his grip enough to let Isaac back to his feet.

“Well, not when you’re looking at him, at least,” Isaac said, going back to getting changed after the game, as if nothing had happened.

“Wait, how did you-- he has been talking to you, hasn’t he?”

“Scott, what was the last thing he talked about to you?”

“Finding his anchor,” Scott said, furrowing his brow. “You asked him about crushes, and then he decided he’d found his anchor... and then that was it. Oh!”

It all made sense now.

“Is he just spending a lot of time with his crush?” Scott still felt like there was a probably-obvious part of this equation that he was missing, especially given Isaac’s reaction was just to laugh, hard enough he was doubled over and holding his sides. When he straightened out he had tears in his eyes.

“Oh, man. I promised him I wouldn’t talk to you about this, or else I’d just tell you to get this over with. You’re going to kick yourself when you realize what you’re not getting.”

Stiles’s voice rang out from behind Scott - he hadn’t even heard Stiles approach.

“Yeah, well, you’ve already started, haven’t you?”

Scott turned around; Stiles was staring at Scott’s bare feet like they were the most interesting things in the world.

“Isaac, get out of here,” Stiles said calmly, and Isaac - to Scott’s surprise - immediately closed his locker, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left without a word.  
Beyond staring at his feet, Stiles hadn’t acknowledged Scott’s presence at all yet, and the silence stretched between them for a full minute before Stiles sighed and started talking. (His head had tilted up a bit, at least -- now he was speaking to Scott’s knees instead of his ankles.)  
“I’m sorry for ignoring you this week,” Stiles started, and the sincerity of his apology took Scott completely by surprise, and took the wind out of his anger.  
“Did I do something?”  
Pause. “No.”  
Scott waited for elaboration, but when it didn’t come, he started to get agitated again.  
“Could you at least look at me properly? You’re still staring at my knees.”  
Stiles looked up (Scott was fully expecting him to have bright amber eyes, but they were normal, if a bit wider than normal) and swallowed audibly. Scott could hear his heart thumping in his chest. He wished that he still felt like he knew Stiles well enough to guess what that meant - he only time he’d ever heard it like that before was when Stiles was talking to Lydia.  
“So.... why? Why were you ignoring me?” Scott’s own heart was reacting to the tension and to being able to hear Stiles’s heartbeat, and was starting to race in his chest.  
“Before I explain,” Stiles said slowly, eyes not moving from Scott’s, “I’m going to do something, and I want you to promise me you won’t hate me.”  
“Stiles, I just want my best friend back.”  
Stiles stared at him for a moment longer, and then took a step forward, and before Scott knew it, Stiles had pressed his lips to his own. Stiles’s lips were chapped, and slick (he had licked them just before the kiss, Scott realized once his brain started being able to think again), and warm, and simultaneously similar to Allison’s and completely different.  
But this explained a lot, Scott realized, lips still pressed to his best friend’s.  
Before he could really deal with that, though, he needed to figure out how he felt about the fact that kissing his best friend felt a _lot_ better than he would ever have expected.


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles pulled away and ran his tongue over his lips, eyes not leaving Scott’s. They stood an arm’s length apart from each other for a moment, both hearts pounding in their chests, before Stiles broke eye contact, mumbling a quiet “sorry” - and before Scott knew it, he was staring shell-shocked at a row of lockers, alone in the locker room.

Scott closed his locker door and licked his lips, which felt almost like they had been rubbed raw, with how sensitive they were to the slightest touch. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, keys out but in his lap, staring blankly ahead at the school. He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair, trying to at least be able to focus enough not to crash on the way home.

Still, it took that almost happening -- and only his werewolf-heightened reflexes stopping it -- for him to fully focus on driving, instead of running through those fifteen seconds over and over again.

What he wanted to focus on was figuring out how he didn’t pick up on the signs. Looking back, everything was so obvious -- even he should have connected the dots. If it had been a woman, he probably would have. Or he’d like to think he would have. That was probably the wall there.

What he was focusing on, though, was how it felt. Not just the physical sensation -- although he was definitely focusing on that, too -- but their hearts racing together, his mind clouding, and just how right it felt.

He had never been more glad to get home to an empty house. Or to get home in one piece, for that matter. That did not make for safe driving.

He had barely sat down at his computer after his shower when Skype popped up, though -- just a ‘hey’ from Stiles, pretty much business-as-usual if you didn’t count the last three weeks. Counting them, it was enough to start Scott’s heart racing again.

He opened the Skype window, hovered his mouse over the text box, then shrugged and hit ‘Video Call’. Stiles, of course, accepted almost immediately.

“Hey.” Stiles smiled, acting like everything was normal, though Scott could see he was blushing.

Scott smiled back, though he didn’t trust his voice to speak quite yet. His body seemed to have made up its mind about how he felt about what had happened.

“So, uh. About the last week. I’m sorry, Scott, I--”

“Nah, I get it.” Scott swallowed again, and pretended his voice sounded completely normal. Maybe Stiles wouldn’t notice.

“O-okay, cool. So are we okay? Do you still just want your best friend back?”

“I don’t know about just...”

Stiles opened his mouth for some sort of witty retort, and then what Scott actually said hit him, and his mouth hung open for fifteen seconds while he processed.

Scott decided to just wait for a response -- he’d had enough time not being able to figure out what to think, so he figured it was way past time that Stiles had a chance. He was trying to decide, based on the way Stiles had reacted to his crush with Lydia, whether he’d ask him out on a date or buy him a present first, and had decided on probably a present when Stiles cleared his throat.

“Scott, who’s in your room with you?”


	12. Chapter 12

Scott's heart jumped into high gear - someone suddenly showing up in his bedroom was almost definitely going to mean something bad; the only real question was who, and how bad.

Derek stared at him out of the darkness of the corner of his room, a half smirk giving his face a lot more emotion than Scott usually associated with him.

"Oh, it's you."

Scott turned back around and shook his head. That would be the 'almost'.

Stiles was frozen mid-word, and as Scott started typing to ask him if Skype was frozen on his end as well, his computer bleeped at him, closing the call and asking him how his experience was.

He typed out a quick 'gonna deal with Derek first' and swivelled around on his chair to face Derek. "What."

"What do you mean, what."

"I mean, what are you doing in my bedroom? We talked about this, Derek."

"Last time, I promise. I just wanted to see if you were completely distracted by all this."

Scott could feel colour rise to his cheeks. "All what? Wh-what do you mean?"

"God, you're a bad liar, Scott. Especially when I can hear your heart trying to beat out of your chest and splatter all over Skype."

"Gross."

"You know what I mean. I'm happy for you and everything, even if I don't see why you'd want him around even more than he already is, but you have to stay aware of your surroundings, Scott."

Scott sighed and rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll pay better attention. I can't even have one day to be normal, can I?"

Derek pushed himself up out of the chair in the corner and strolled over towards Scott, who debated between standing as well or staying stayed for long enough that Derek chose for him, looming over him and giving him no room to maneuver.

"Scott, whatever bad shit is out there and coming here because of that stunt you three pulled is going to be coming for the two of us. And probably you first. If you choose to be normal for a day, you're giving up on your duties as an alpha, and giving up on the protection of this town."

"All right, all right, jeez," Scott said, pushing Derek away. "You've been talking to Peter too much, you're starting to sound like him. I'll try not to let my... whatever this is... get in the way of anything. But hey, at least we have another wolf if shit goes down!" He grinned, intentionally more chipper than necessary.

Derek rolled his eyes and breathed out dramatically. "Yeah, because that was such a good idea."

Scott mimicked his huff, rolling his eyes as obviously as possible. "Yeah, because you can totally talk. Get out of my room."

Derek blinked once at the sudden change of tone, then held up his hands, a stony look on his face, turning around to leave without a word.

"Wait--" Scott called out. "How did you know about... about... y'know."

Derek stopped at the door and turned around to smirk, his teeth glinting in the low light. "Scott, do you really think anyone but you took this long to figure it out?"

"Oh, fuck off."

Derek laughed and turned to leave.

"Oh, and-- thanks. I'll be more careful." _At the_ very _least, to make sure you don't end up in my room at the wrong time._

Derek walked off without another word, and Scott wheeled back to his computer and Skype, typing out 'okay, I'm good' before realizing that Stiles was offline.

Scott frowned. That wasn't like him, he normally said he had to go. And he was pretty sure at least that he could say he knew Stiles again, now that he had figured out how the puzzle had changed.

He pushed down his sense of unease. He'd just give him a phone call and everything would be alright. The power probably just went out or something.


	13. Chapter 13

Scott scowled at the phone in his hands while it rang and rang, as if it were to blame for Stiles not answering for some reason. It genuinely could be - his phone could be broken, Stiles' phone could be broken at the same time as his computer and/or power went off... but Scott learned pretty quickly that coincidences didn't really happen around him anymore.

And he knew Stiles - he wouldn't leave it this long without trying to get back in touch with Scott, even if it ended up just being to complain about his computer being a piece of shit that he needed to replace every year and a half.

Something was wrong.

He grabbed his car keys and ran downstairs, checking the time in the clock on the den on his way out; he had to be there to pick up his mom in two hours. Hopefully, whatever was going on could be solved quickly.

Because that totally happens, right?

He peeled around the corners of the back streets connecting him and Stiles, itching to wolf out at every stop sign and both lights (which were, of course, red, and Scott swore that they had been programmed to stay red for longer than normal).

He swung into the Stilinski driveway, leaving his parking job crooked and blocking anyone else from entering the driveway easily - the Jeep was still there, he noted while he ripped his car keys out of the ignition and used his copy of Stiles' house key to let himself in.

So Stiles hadn't left. Or, at least, not alone.

Scott bounded up the stairs, heart racing but not wanting to give into the temptation and wolf out until and unless it was actually necessary. He reached Stiles' room and pushed open the door to reveal Stiles sitting in the computer chair, gagged and bound and looking nothing if not pissed. Scott took a step into the room towards him, and then in one fluid motion he wolfed out and turned towards the movement on his right, swiping at whoever's face it was.

"Rude!"

Peter dabbed at the lines of blood that had appeared on his cheek, a frown on his face that seemed entirely too nonchalant for the situation.

Scott growled at him, and Peter rolled his eyes, sighing.

"Look, he's okay, isn't he? We just wanted to... let's phrase it as a test. We wanted to test you both."

Peter was standing at ease, with his feet shoulder length apart and hands clasped behind him, obviously feeling in control of the situation.  
With a quick kick between his legs, Scott corrected that illusion. Werewolves healed quickly, but pain wasn't really an injury in and of itself - Peter went down, and with the force Scott had used, he probably would stay that way for a while.

While he lay on the floor, holding his crotch and moaning in pain, Scott shook his head.

"You're not my teacher, Peter. You might know things I don't, but I'd rather not know them than learn them from you."

He went behind Stiles, tugging on the rope in a few places before he figured out where to loosen the knot Peter had tied. By the time he was basically done, Peter had gotten up, obviously still in pain, but with a sneer on his face, glaring at Scott with revenge in his eyes.

Scott roared "Get OUT!" in the most commanding voice he could muster, and Peter scrambled out of Stiles' room - because of the voice or the pain or what, Scott didn't know and didn't particularly care.

As the last of the rope finally fell off Stiles' wrists, he got up off the chair and wheeled around, hugging Scott and burying his face into his shoulder.

Scott let him stay there for a moment, then shifted backwards a bit so that he would lift his head. Stiles looked at him confused and weary-eyed for a moment before Scott's lips met his.

Scott's heart was racing again, and so was Stiles', but they were racing in time with each other, and both of them could hear it, could hear how in synch they were. This was a much more natural-feeling kiss - they sunk into it, both of them melting into each other's touch, not doing much more than just holding each other.

Stiles let one hand wander up to Scott's hair, and Scott took that as a cue to turn the 'hooray, you're safe' kiss into something closer to what he'd been thinking about ever since the locker room that afternoon.

Which was how the Sheriff found them, clearing his throat in the doorway and startling them out of their reverie.


	14. Chapter 14

"D-Dad!"

Stiles stood up, stepped out of Scott's grip, instantly beet red, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Scott was left frozen sitting on the edge of Stiles bed, staring at the sheriff blankly, his arms slumped from where they had just a moment before been caressing Stiles.

"Should I, uh." The sheriff pointed at Stiles, then Scott, then Stiles again. "Should I have known about this?"

Scott looked at Stiles, waiting for him to say something, but it looked like his brain had just abandoned him - he stood there, hand up like he was trying to say something, but completely frozen in place, red enough that Scott was really just waiting for the smoke to start rising from his ears.

He cleared his throat and stood up, slinging an arm around Stiles' waist, feeling him tense up under his touch. "To be honest, sir, I don't think either of us really knew about it, either."

Stiles's mouth started opening and closing, and he started blinking again, which was a relief for Scott - his eyes were staying to water just looking at him. The twitch starting in his eyebrow was a bit less of a relief, but it meant that he hadn't completely checked out. 

"Okay, I'm just going to pretend I know what that means." He took a step back out of the bedroom, then wheeled around suddenly, making both of them flinch.

"Actually, no, I'm not, I'm just going to forget that I saw anything at all. Just... make sure you're, um." He scratched the back of his head, colour risking his son's. "Safe. Make sure you're safe." There was a beat while they both stared at him. "You know, uh. Cond-"

"DAD, OH MY GOD!"

All the pent up attempting to speak burst out of Stiles at once, yelling so loudly that Scott reflexively grabbed him tighter, holding him close, and the Sheriff took a step backwards, holding his hands up and wordlessly closing the door behind him.

Scott looked at Stiles, redder than he was pretty sure was healthy, even for someone that pale, and burst out laughing, leaving into Stiles for support.

"Well, I'm glad you find my death by embarrassment funny," Stiles said, pulling out of Scott's grip and letting himself flop onto his bed, covering his eyes with his hands and groaning.

Scott just climbed on top of him, straddling his hips and grabbing Stiles's wrists. He could hear Stiles's heart start beating faster as soon as he started climbing aboard, and by the time he had hold of his wrists, their hearts were hammering in sync again.

Scott slowly pulled Stiles's hands away from his face, replacing them with his lips and letting their fingers curl together, not so much pinning Stiles down as comfortably resting on top of him.


	15. Chapter 15

Scott opened his eyes the next morning and stretched, hitting Stiles in the face, prompting a grumbled ‘ow’ and his hand being watted away as Stiles rolled over, pulling the blanket that Scott didn’t remember being put over them and exposing half of Scott to the cold air of Stiles’s bedroom.

Scott shivered and wormed his way up to Stiles, pulling the blanket just enough so that it could cover him fully again, wrapping an arm around Stiles and nuzzling into his cheek, his heart racing as he slowly realized that he had just woken up beside Stiles. It wasn't like this was the first time that had happened, but it was the first time they had woken up intertwined.

They were both still clothed -- they had talked about it a bit last night, between frenzied and hungry kisses, and they were both comfortable with the shirts coming off (“Who hasn’t seen you without a shirt”, Stiles said, rolling his eyes, one hand lazily tracing circles around Scott’s nipple) but neither of them were really comfortable with the underwear coming off quite yet, not until they were both a bit more comfortable with all the feelings that had been shifting and changing between them.

Scott curled his hand into the space between Stiles’s cheek and his shoulder, and he heard a small content noise as Stiles smiled and nuzzled it, kissing his palm before falling back asleep.

Scott wasn’t sure how he’d be able to get back to sleep, honestly, with his heart pounding the way that it was. He had no idea how Stiles could just lean into him and drop into sleep. He felt like he was wide awake, wrapped around the warm body he’d managed to fall asleep against, conversation trailing off in the night. But it was just so wonderful to be holding him so tight, to feel Stiles right up against his chest.

He woke up again with a start as Stiles shifted underneath his arms, trying to leave but not quite able to make it out without waking up Scott.

When Scott made a noise, Stiles turned in his arms instead, coming face-to-face very suddenly. His eyes were still half-asleep, and his hair was a mess, and Scott felt his heart skip a beat.

He was beautiful, and Scott got to wake up next to him. There were worse ways to start your day.

“Morning, sunshine. Good to see you’re already smiling.”

“You say that like I shouldn’t be.” Scott grinned sleepily.

Stiles leaned in for a quick kiss, pulling back for just a second before leaning back in, deciding to make it longer. Scott was more than welcome to keep it going, rolling on top of him, their hearts pounding, their chests warm against each others’ skin, the blanket half off and completely forgotten.

It only took a minute before Scott rolled off again, a blush creeping into his cheeks as he realized they were both reacting to the attraction very obviously, and the morning was heading in a direction that neither of them wanted to go quite yet.

They both lay on the bed without moving for a second, breathing heavily, Scott trying to focus his thoughts and willing himself to calm down, right up until Stiles entwined his fingers into Scott’s, clasping his hand on the empty bed between their bodies, their breathing calming.

Scott breathed deeply. "Well, then."

"So are we boyfriends now?" It sounded like the words forced themselves out of Stiles' mouth, his lips fumbling over the words. 

"What?" Scott stared at the ceiling, trying to make his thoughts work.

Stiles propped himself up on his side, face serious, bleary eyes blinking away the last of the sleep. "Are we boyfriends?"

Scott stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open. "Do you…do you want to be?"

"Uh, yeah?" Stiles raised an eyebrow. "I thought that was kind of obvious. I mean, who wouldn't want to be your boyfriend, you're sweet, you're gorgeous, you're…" He trailed off and gestured at Scott. "You."

Scott laughed, staring at the ceiling again, focusing all his energy on not letting the blush he could feel coming on show.

He wasn't allowed to blush.

But he knew Stiles. Stiles wouldn't take his laughter as rejection, but he'd need the reassurance. "Yeah. Yeah, I think we're boyfriends, if that's what you think about me."

Stiles kissed Scott once more, then settled down, his head resting on Scott's chest, one arm draped across Scott's chest, nuzzling in close and tugging at the blanket. "Good. Now let's go back to sleep, it's too early to be awake on a Sunday."

"Stiles, it's almost noon."

"It's too early to be awake on a Sunday."


	16. Chapter 16

Really, they should have expected everyone's reactions. (Stiles swore up and down that he did, but Scott was pretty sure, at this point, that he knew Stiles -- better, maybe, than Stiles knew himself... and, in a word, no. No, he did not.)  
  
Allison and Lydia high-fived when Scott and Stiles walked into school a very calculted three days later; after some ribbing that didn't disguise their prying nearly as well as they thought it did, they just accepted it as their new normal and didn't say anything more. They got some looks for it around the school, but not nearly as many as either of them expected, and more of them were accompanied by slightly patronizing thumbs-ups than negativity. Coach Finstock clasped them on the shoulders in the change room, loudly said "Just not in the change room, okay?" and then loudly complained when Scott's hand found Stiles's -- but the first time someone muttered something negative about it, he was thrown out of the changeroom without a second chance. Isaac already knew, of course, and he'd told Boyd and Erica. Their parents were okay with it (and Melissa had suspected what might develop for a while; Sherriff was blindsided but accepting).  
  
And so they settled into a routine. The looks stopped once everyone got used to the fact that they were dating, and both of them were so open about it -- Scott because the thought of hiding how he felt didn't even really cross his mind, Stiles because he had decided that it was the best way to minimize shit to deal with -- that for the most part, they were just like any other werewolf couple in Beacon Hills.  
  
Which really just meant Erica and Boyd, but there were definitely some similarities there. Not many, but some.  
  
A couple weeks into it, Scott lay awake in bed, alone; Stiles had had to go home the night before to deal with homework that he'd let pile up, and Scott had had a shift at work anyway, and there wasn't anything putting them on high alert. It was still early; last he'd looked, Scott'd had about half an hour before he needed to drag himself into the shower to be ready for his boyfriend (and he still grinned when he phrased it like that in his head). They alternated who picked who up in the mornings, though Stiles tended to take the times when Melissa was working days, since he couldn't really stomach the motorcycle.  
  
His phone rang, jolting him awake from a light doze; Stiles's picture floated on-screen, and then before Scott could answer it, he hung up. Scott scowled at the phone, as if it had meant to tease him, and then shurgged. Stiles would be here soon enough, and they could trade jokes about butt-dialling en route to school. And besides, a shower meant that he had time to come up with a couple really good ones.  
  
One giggle-filled shower later, Scott was dressed and ready for Stiles to pick him up - but despite the Jeep's tendency to be everywhere ten minutes early, he wasn't even on time. And then he was five minutes late. And then ten minutes late, and not answering his cellphone.  
  
And then Scott was on his motorcycle, already cursing about missing first period, but without even a shadow of a doubt that he needed to get to Stiles's place.  
  
He pulled up in his boyfriend's driveway, parked between the police cruisers, and ran into the cordoned-off house, heart pounding. Two officers reacted with a start as he ran by, but he was faster than they were, even without wolfing out, and he bounded up the stairs to Stiles's room.  
  
Sheriff was there, standing outside the room, looking about ten years older than he had the day before.  
  
He looked at Scott, held his gaze for a moment, and then just shook his head. "I shouldn't be surprised you already knew."  
  
"Yeah, I, uh. Seem to find out about these things pretty quickly. What happened, where's Stiles?"  
  
"I would absolutely love to give you an answer, Scott." The Sheriff's voice broke, and he cleared his throat. "We have no idea. I heard a- a scuffle, and then after I made sure it wasn't you two... y'know..." _Cough._ "After I made sure you weren't over, I opened the door, and he was just... gone."  
  
"Gone?"  
  
"Vanished. Poof. They were here looking around, but they said that it looked like he just left for school.... almost."  
  
"Almost?"  
  
"There's a bit of blood. Not much, definitely not enough to worry, especially with what you two do, but... enough to make me sure I wasn't hearing things." He smiled, but it somehow just managed to make him look even more tired.  
  
Scott walked towards Stiles's bedroom and held up the tape, raising an eyebrow.  
  
"Oh, yeah, go on in. It's mostly there so they know which room is his anyway,. Don't want them going into my room or the office."  
  
Scott nodded, then ducked under the tape, letting his wolf senses surface. The room smelled like Stiles, Scott, and the Sherriff, and that was about it. He found the blood almost immediately - it was right where he guessed, by the computer chair. There wasn't much - it was barely noticeable or identifiable as blood, just a smattering of droplets - but it was there.  
  
The Sheriff clasped a hand on Scott's shoulder. "Do you, uh... Do you need some underwear or something to sniff?" Scott wasn't sure he'd ever seen anyone but Stiles go quite that pink -- he could see where it came from, suddenly.  
  
Scott blinked at him, hoping that he wasn't turning a matching shade. "N-no, sir. I would be able to recognize Stiles anywhere."  
  
"So you'll find him?"  
  
Scott looked up, jaw set. He could feel his hands threatening to tremble, and instead of letting them, he balled them into fists.

"I'll find him." 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter includes something similar to self-harm (or I guess self-harm but in a different context). Message me (preferably at shorm.tumblr.com) if you need to know details to figure out if this is safe for you to read!

He went to school for the rest of the day, quietly asking around about Stiles, and filling their friends in on what had happened. Boyd and Isaac agreed (with varying levels of reluctance) to ditch the afternoon to try and hunt Stiles down. It was a full moon, and even though Stiles had long since managed to keep control of himself, him missing on the first night of the full moon just seemed like a really bad omen.

After school, he went straight back to the Stilinski house, a cold hand wrapped around his heart. It felt weird, for the first time in years, to let himself into the dark and empty house. He strained his ears, trying desperately to pick up on anything, the faintest sound that might tell him where Stiles had gone, but there was nothing; the house was almost completely silent, and there was no quiet tapping to tell him where his boyfriend was trapped, no frantic heartbeat where Stiles screamed for help. Nothing. And while Scott didn't need a whiff of Stiles's underwear to pick up on his scent, it was almost useless; his scent was overwhelmingly present, it was everywhere -- he didn't have anywhere to pick up.

So he started with what didn't belong.

There was a smell of someone wearing too much Axe deodorant that had walked up to the doorstoop, probably the night before; Stiles had probably ordered in, no surprise there. There were the officers' footsteps, traipsing all over the house, understandably careless about scent tracks they were muffling into obscurity. Scott had probably met every officer on the force, but he wasn't familiar enough with all of them to definitively say whether or not a certain smell was or wasn't a cop.

He was back to square one: feeling helpless. He sat on Stiles's bed, lying back on the familiar sheets and breathing deep. When he found Stiles -- when he found who had taken Stiles -- he was going to tear someone apart. If whoever, whatever it was wnated to piss him off, they had managed it.

A quiet knock on the doorframe jolted him out of his reverie, and he jolted awake to see the Sheriff standing there, concerned. "Scott, you're bleeding." He took a step forward, peering at Scott's eyes, and (after a quick check to make sure that he was fully himself again), Scott held up his hands; he had dug his claws into his palms as they formed, so that they dug deep gouges into his flesh, and a small pool of blood was forming on Stiles's thankfully dark sheets. Scott swore and jumped up, walking quickly to the bathroom, cursing quietly under his breath in Spanish as he washed his self-inflicted wounds.

"Are you... okay, Scott?" He was standing at the doorframe again. He was almost acting like he was afraid of Scott -- or, at least, very wary. Scott held up his hands, nails pink and rounded once again.

"I'm fine. Sorry. You have enough to worry about, I shouldn't be adding to it--"

"You were already part of it, Scott. Don't pretend you weren't." He hesitated for a second, then took a step forward and clasped Scott's shoulder, his heart and hand steady.

Scott swallowed hard, not really knowing what to say, when his phone rang, with Stiles's ringtone (one he had recorded himself, long before they had started dating, of Stiles screaming 'pick up the phone, Scott' progressively louder and louder); Scott almost dropped it in his hurry to pull it out of his pocket.

"Stiles?"

"Scott?"


	18. Chapter 18

"Oh my god, Stiles, where are you?"  
  
Stiles sounded almost like he'd just woken up, maybe from a nightmare. "I--" he cleared his throat. "I don't actually know. Somewhere in the woods."  
  
"In the woods?"  
  
"Yeah. Or in woods, at least, I guess I can't be sure they're our woods."  
  
Scott closed his eyes in relief. "You're okay."  
  
"Yeah, just, uh... Can you make sure you're the one who finds me? And can you, uh." He cleared his throat again. "Is my Dad standing right there?"  
  
Scott pulled his phone away from his ear and hit the speakerphone button. "Yeah, he's here, Stiles."  
  
"Hi, Dad. I guess I skipped school today."  
  
The Sheriff closed his eyes and laughed, breathy laughs that were halfway to being sobs. "It's okay, I'll ground you later. Do you have any idea where you are, so we can come pick you up?"  
  
Stiles paused for a second. "This looks familiar, but I couldn't pinpoint it. I'm pretty sure I'm west of town, but I-- I have no clue, I don't remember anything, it's all just-- just a blur, a giant... blurry hole."  
  
"I'll find you," Scott said, and then with a look from the Sheriff, quickly added "We'll find you."  
  
"Yeah, about that..." Stiles cleared his throat again. "Can you try and make sure you're the one who finds me first? And, uh, bring me a change of clothes?"  
  
"Oh." And suddenly, the Sheriff was bright pink again. "Yeah, I--I'll find you, don't worry. I'd work quicker on my own anyway."  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
"Wh--" Scott stopped mid-question as the Sheriff tore his phone out of his hands, frantically asking Stiles what was wrong.  
  
"No, my phone's dying, it's okay, that's it. Shit. Come find me soon, okay?"  
  
"I will." Scott gingerly took his phone from the Sheriff's still-outstretched hand.  
  
"I love you."  
  
 _Now_  was Scott's turn to go pink in the ears. This wasn't the first time they had said it, but it was the first time they'd said it with anyone else around, the first time it had been more than a bedtime mumble that the other person returned but wasn't entirely sure had actually been said.  
  
"I love you, too."  
  
Stiles hung up, and Scott shoved his phone in his pocket, unable to look the Sheriff in the eyes, but grinning dopily.  
  
"Well. You, uh." The Sheriff scratched the back of his head. "You'd better head out, it's gonna get dark soon."  
  
"Y-yeah. I'll, uh." Scott pointed towards the door of the small bathroom he was suddenly aware that they were still standing in. He didn't think he would ever be more grateful to see the inside of Stiles's bedroom, even if he didn't expect to be going through his boyfriend's underwear drawer quite this early in their relationship. 


	19. Chapter 19

Once he was in the forest, he was much less surrounded by distracting smells; if he'd known to go west looking for Stiles in the first place, he would have been impossible to miss; he was far enough away that only the faintest whiff could reach Scott, but it was like a candle in pitch-black darkness; he had no difficulty picking it out and followed it like there was nothing else in the world, running as fast as more-than-humanly possible. Stiles burst out laughing when Scott came into the clearing; as Scott walked up, shrugging off the backpack that held Stiles's clothes, he realized how ridiculous he must have looked, this snarling, sprinting beast in Scott's jacket and jeans, carrying a backpack lke it was no big deal. At least he had thought twice about using a gym bag.

He had a quick and easy way to shut Stiles up, though, and as soon as Stiles registered where Scott's lips were in relation to his own, he got very serious, very quickly. Stiles grabbed a fistful of Scott's jacket, pulling him to the ground with him, and Scott gave in for a second before a quick brush against Stiles's bare chest reminded him why he was alone, and not leading a search party.

"Wait, first get dressed," Scott said, pulling himself back and looking Stiles over from arm's length. He looked tattered; his hair was even more of a mess than it normally was, the bags under his eyes were threatening to take over, and he had scratches across his side and back that Scott couldn't quite place.

"You don't remember anything that happened?"

"Nothing. Zip, Nada. How bad is it?"

"You're alive." Scott brough him to his chest again, holding him close so he was sure Stiles could hear his heartbeat, hear for himself how worried Scott was. "It can't be that bad." He pulled away again, and reached down to grab the handle of his backpack without looking.

"Now, get dressed. Your Dad is leading a search party that I'm technically part of, and they'll find us eventually."

Stiles yelped and tore the bag out of Scott's hands, grabbing at the underwear that was placed on top first. They could hear the search party now; they weren't particularly close, but they were making a considerable amount of noise in the search.

"And now we wait," Stiles said, sinking against the base of the tree again, and tugging on Scott's sleeve; without even really thinking about it, Scott sunk down next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and holding him tight to his side.

They sat like that until the search party found them, and then (after the Sheriff chastized Scott for not calling him immediately when he'd found Stiles, only acquiescing when Scott managed to convincingly lie about how long they'd been sitting there) walked hand-in-hand back to where the search party's cars were parked. Stiles blanched at getting on the back of Scott's motorcycle, but Scott refused to let his hand go with only a half-hearted protest from Stiles, and instead of protesting further Stiles just hopped on, leaning close to his boyfriend and holding perhaps a bit tighter than normal.

Scott twisted in his seat before starting the bike and put on his smarmiest smirk. "Your place or mine?"

Stiles mumbled "Yours" into Scott's shoulderblades without looking up; Scott did his best not to be too disappointed.

To make sure his mind was clear for the drive home, and not focused on the vibrations between him and his boyfriend and all the places where they were touching, Scott puzzled over a different nut: where did the claw marks come from? Why werent they healing? What could make him lose his memory? 

If Stiles wasn't so obviously exhausted, Scott would have driven straight to the vet and gotten Deaton to look at him; as it was, he was planning on skipping first period the next morning, and making sure that Stiles did the same. Finstock would understand.


	20. Chapter 20

"Scott, you're not going to like my answer."

Deaton was standing on one side of Stiles, who was shirtless and spread out on the examination table, still far paler than normal; the wounds were no longer bleeding, but were an angry red. None of them, thankfully, seemed to be infected at all, which seemed a minor miracle in the mess they'd found themselves.

"Why, what's your answer?"

"I don't know."

Scott swore under his breath, then bit his lip. "Okay, so how do we find out?"

"I don't know."

"Where should we start looking?"

"I don't kn--"

Scott cut Deaton off with a fist slammed into the table -- hard enough that even as sick as he was and as bad as he felt, Stiles jumped straight up into a seated position, eyes wide and heart pounding. 

"Do you know anything, anything at all that could help us?" Scott wasn't yelling, but he was barely holding it back.

"Scott, I could give you guesses, but I don't want to be wrong. Whatever it is, it's smart, almost definitely sentient. It chose to leave Stiles alive, but was crafty enough not to let him remember what it was. And if it's able to leave marks like these, it's definitely powerful." Deaton's voice stayed flat. 

"Doc, I think we need to reevaluate when you should and shouldn't say you don't know anything," Stiles said, sliding off the table and wincing as he shrugged on his shirt. "It makes Scott get all punchy."

"I wish I knew more, or even knew where to start looking. I have some ideas, but they're not anything you'd be able to help me with." He smiled, but his eyes stayed cold. "I'll let you know whatever I can find."

Scott lifted his hands from where they were on the table, still balled into fists, and shoved them into his pockets. "Sorry."

"That's alright." No explanation, just a simple apology and acceptance.

Scott couldn't shake the feeling that Deaton wasn't quite telling him everything, but he was fairly used to that feeling; he knew Deaton would tell him everything when he wanted to, and not a minute sooner, and there wasn't really any point in trying to press the matter.

“So what do we do now?” Stiles asked, swinging his legs over the metal examination table and buttoning up his shirt.

“For now? I’d say that the best thing is to keep tabs on each other. Although I don’t think that will be too hard for you two.” He smirked as he washed his hands. “You two were almost attached at the hip before you started dating.”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’ll have much trouble with that,” Stiles said. His voice was calm and level, but his cheeks were bright red splotches against his still too-pale skin. He slid off the table, walked over to Scott, and laced their fingers together, squeezing Scott’s hand for support. “You okay?”

Scott nodded, then looked at Deaton. “You’ll call as soon as you figure anything out?”

Deaton raised an eyebrow, eyes glittering with amusement. “Don’t I always?”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where it actually earns its M rating. Ctrl+F "enjoying the view" if you want to skip the smut.

Because Stiles was still so sick, Scott drove them back to his house instead of to school; he’d make his excuses the next day. Enough of the teachers were part of the search party for Stiles that he was pretty sure they wouldn’t give him too much grief, and he wanted to watch over Stiles.  
Stiles was able to walk without help, which was an improvement over the day before, but his cuts still worried Scott; they were still bright red, clearly-marked slashes across his chest and the side of his neck, and didn’t look like they were healing at anything faster than the normal human rate. (Another time, Scott might have wondered how weird it was that healing normally had become abnormal; right then, he was too worried about Stiles.)  
  
They walked into the living room, dropped their bags on the floor, and flopped onto the couch, almost in synch. It was almost the same way they had entered Scott’s house every day after school for years, with the sole exception that now, Scott had his arm draped around Stiles’s shoulder, and Stiles had his hand resting on Scott’s inner thigh, near his knee. Scott hadn’t realized how sensitive that area was, somehow, but he could feel every tiny movement in Stiles’s hand, even through his jeans. He could almost swear he could feel Stiles’s heartbeat through the palm.  
  
Scott grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, but before he was able to do more than navigate to Netflix, Stiles’s hand was on his cheek, guiding it towards him. Scott met him gently, relishing the time alone together, with little to no chance of interruption.   
  
He had Stiles to himself for a day. He didn’t need to share him with anyone. And, more importantly, he didn’t feel like he needed to share himself. Netflix lay forgotten, sitting on the opening screen.  
  
Scott's hands wandered. One was caressing Stiles's cheek; his other was intertwined with Stiles's between them; one of them had moved to behind Stiles's back; now one was running a thumb over Stiles's nipple; one had a fistful of hair. As time went on, Scott cared less about where his hands were, though he felt evey touch of Stiles's. His seemed a lot more intentional, moving together down Scott's body. He shivered when Scott's thumb brushed his nipple, and his hands -- halfway down Scott's sides -- gripped him tight.  
  
With how aware he was of where Stiles's hands were, though, he still didn't realize where they were going, and so when Stiles pulled away from their desperate kisses, Scott was confused until he registered that Stiles was trying to take his shirt off. He grinned and obediently held his arms up so that Stiles could pull it off, and then reached down to return the favour. Once Stiles's shirt was off, Scott leaned forward, pushing Stiles down so he could be lying on top of him. Their bare chests touching sent tingles through Scott's body, and he could hear from Stiles's heartbeat that it was doing the same for him.  
  
Stiles wiggled out from underneath Scott, and immediately Scott got off him, standing up, blood draining from his face. "Oh, shit, you're hurt-- I'm sorry, I should have thought about that."  
  
Stiles shook his head and reached out a hand, pulling his boyfriend back onto the couch and then pushing him down so that Stiles could be on top. "That's not it, babe. I just want to be on top." He cut off Scott's protest with a deep kiss, twining his fingers with Scott's at his sides.  
  
Scott was all too aware of the fact that they were still wearing pants. They were straining against each other, just the friction from being on top of each other too much to ignore. He tried to reach a hand down, but Stiles pulled his arms above his head instead, eyes open, looking into Scott's.   
  
"You're sure?"  
  
Scott grinned. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure."  
  
Stiles crossed Scott's wrists, holding both arms above his head with one arm and his body weight. Scott could break free if he wanted, but the further south that Stiles's other hand traveled, the less he was able to really think about it.  
  
As Stiles's hand reached Scott's waist, he hesitated just a moment, then lightly ran his hand over the bulge at Scott's crotch. Scott arched into his hand, trapping his arm between them, reaching with his whole body for more. He pulled against Stiles's hold, but in that position, he would have had more trouble breaking free than was worthwhile.  
  
Once he stopped struggling, Stiles broke away from the kiss, and -- hand still teasing Scott through his jeans -- his mouth found Scott's nipple. One flick of his tongue, and Scott was moaning. He pulled one hand out of Stiles's grasp, and immediately brought it down to Stiles's pants, not even hesitating to grab his boyfriend's bulge. Stiles moaned into Scott's chest, then sat up, moving his hand up to grab Scott's shoulders, grinding against Scott, the friction through their pants enough for now.  
  
"Pants off?"  
  
"Pants off." Scott brought his other hand down to immediately unbutton Stiles's pants, unzipping them and yanking them a few inches down his hips almost all in one motion. Stiles had a bit more trouble with Scott's, but in a matter of seconds Stiles was on top of Scott again, even more bare flesh to touch and even less fabric to hold them back. It was almost enough to keep Scott from giggling at Stiles's Iron Man boxers. Almost.  
  
Stiles -- who knew Scott well enough to know exactly what he was laughing at -- knew how to distract him, though, and so he was the first to go under the boxers, grabbing Scott's dick, eyes open and searching to make sure that this was okay.  
  
There was no way anyone would interrupt them. Scott looked into his boyfriend's eyes, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his (very normal) boxers, and pulled them down to his knees, then grabbed Stiles's and did the same thing.  
  
He could feel both of their hearts pounding in their chests, thumping at triple speed in time with one another as they kicked off their boxers. From there, it was a blur of memories:  
  
Scott has one hand fisted in Stiles's hair, and another around his cock, pumping away while Stiles returns the favour, their mouths forgotten --  
  
Stiles's face is buried in Scott's crotch, and he's doing this _thing_  with his tongue that makes it so Scott can't think enough to do anything more than lean back and moan --  
  
Scott has a dick in his mouth for the first time, and it's warm and wet and slightly salty, and he's not entirely sure what to do with it, but whatever it is he's doing, Stiles seems to enjoy it --  
  
Scott's hands are playing with Stiles's nipples, grinding against each other on the couch while they make out, sweat dripping into their eyes and mixing between their chests, breath coming in gasps --   
  
Stiles came first, but it was only a moment later that Scott felt the rush and gasped; they managed to avoid any of it getting on the couch, and Scott almost immediately got up to grab the paper towel, cursing their lack of foresight, giddy and light-headed and grinning from ear to ear. (Stiles was pretty pleased with himself, and completely oblivious to his own happy grin.)  
  
The TV had shut itself off, and since the McCall living room wasn't set up with late-afternoon sunlight in mind, it's a lot darker than either of them had realized, all at once.  
  
After they had wiped themselves off, Scott curled around Stiles, laying down side-by-side on a rather thin couch, head rested gently on Stiles's heart. Their hearts were still beating much faster than normal and perfectly in synch.  
  
They lay like that for a few minutes, just gentle kisses and hair-playing, before Scott sat up with a sigh. “I suppose we should probably go upstairs.”  
  
Stiles closed his eyes and groaned, stretching his body out in a very attractive way as he readied himself for the long, naked journey upstairs.  
  
Scott leaned over and pecked his cheek. “I’ll meet you there,” he said, motioning with his head towards the bathroom. Stiles nodded, gathering clothing and discarded paper towels, a smile still on his face. Scott watched him leave, enjoying the view.  
  
He turned around to the bathroom, blinked, and suddenly found himself in the forest. He took a quick stock of his surroundings: naked, with a gash across his chest and another across his throat, his cellphone gripped in his hand. His fingers were smeared with blood.  
  
He couldn’t remember a thing.


	22. Chapter 22

Scott's hand shook as he typed out Stiles's name. HIs phone was blinking red at him, warning him that it was about to die as he hit 'call'. He needed to ignore the blood drops for now -- one thing at a time, right?

It only rang twice before Stiles picked up, and his "Scott?" was breathy and wavering, full of barely-held back tears.

"I'm in the woods. I think I'm where you were."

"Wait, what do you mean where I was? Where did you go? One minute you were here, the next you were just-- just gone, and--"

"Stiles," Scott swallowed. "Stiles, we'll figure it out, okay?"

There was a pause on the other end. Scott could almost hear Stiles running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Yeah, okay. I'll come get you. I should be able to find you."

His phone beeped in his ear. Oh, shit.

"My phone's about to die, Stiles, I'll wait by the same tree!" He pulled his phone away from his ear; it was turning off. There was no telling how much of that Stiles heard. Hopefully he'd be able to piece everything else together.

Scott sat down next to the tree, trying not to think about the fact that he was naked, the fact that he was cold, the fact that he was shaking. The fact that he was probably bleeding -- the blood on the phone smelled like his own, and with a quick check, he confirmed that he had the same wounds as Stiles.

Whatever was doing this, it wasn't like anything they'd faced before, and it could damage werewolves without them healing.

At least it was kind enough to leave them a couple percent on their phones. "Would have been nice to have some clothing," Scott said, closing his eyes and leaning against the trunk. He had a while to wait before Stiles would be able to get to him, even if he remembered exactly where to go. And more than anything, Scott was tired -- judging from the light, it was just after dawn, and it felt like he had been up all night. Which meant that at least three other people had probably been up all night: Stiles and their respective parents. He winced. None of them got enough sleep as it was.

He was making a mental note to apologize to them as he drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick update. I'm not abandoning this story, I promise! I have a tad more than this written, but this seemed like the best place to break it.


	23. Chapter 23

A crash woke Scott, but it wasn't the instant alertness that he'd gotten used to; it felt like he used to wake up, before Peter bit him, like he was... normal. That was definitely not what he was used to anymore, and so it felt like it took forever for him to register that it was Stiles staring at him, a worried expression on his face.  
  
A split second after the fog cleared and he was able to make that connection, Stiles had his head pressed to his chest, heart pounding in Scott's ears even harder than normal. Scott could smell the fear coming off Stiles in waves, but he didn't need to cheat to know that Stiles was on the verge of tears. He pulled himself away from a protesting Stiles, just far enough to straighten up his back and look Stiles in the eye.  
  
"Stiles. It's okay. I'm fine. We'll figure out what's going on." He paused, hoping for a reaction from Stiles -- but those were all things that Stiles was expecting him to say. He could almost hear the gears turning in Stiles's head -- he would have come up with a dozen counter-arguments to everything he just said, long before the words fell out of his mouth.  
  
"Did you bring my clothes?" His cheeks burned red as he asked, cursing himself for sounding so sheepish about it. But it was enough that it jerked Stiles out of his thought-spiral. It was like he woke up from a nap.  
  
Stiles mumbled -- Scott knew better than to try and understand what he said, it was probably pieced-together half-words that don't usually go together outside of Stiles's head -- and handed Scott the backpack full of clothing.  
  
Stiles's heartbeat was slower than the panic he'd been in when he found Scott, but the waves of fear were still billowing from him, far stronger than he would have been able to hide. Scott pulled on his underwear, then took a step forward, ignoring the rest of the contents of the backpack for now, and pulled Stiles into a long kiss, letting their heartbeats thump together, letting his forced calm bring Stiles back down. Letting his lips linger. Letting his hands wander. Letting Stiles come back down to Earth, away from the scary world of what-if that he'd found.  
  
When he pulled back, their hearts were beating in sync, a slow, steady _ba-bump_ , and Stiles looked a lot less like he was going to be sick. Scott smiled at him, then picked the backpack up off the ground. He wasn't sure if a search party had been organized, but he didn't want to be standing around in his underwear when his boyfriend's father showed up, if he could help it.  
  
When his mother showed up alongside the Sherriff, he sent a little prayer up to whatever higher power may or may not have been watching over him. 


End file.
